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These motivations aren’t novel, or unexpected. We swim naked because it connects us more intensely to things: the water, the natural world, our bodies. But the simplicity of the motives doesn’t make the practice any less powerful. And as Rhia, 36, a holistic therapist in Norfolk who started naked swimming a couple of years ago says, there’s also an ecological factor too. It is “a way to reconnect to the earth”; after all, “we are water”. For her, in the context of a summer of sewage being emptied into our waters, there’s something vital about the physical act of putting one’s naked body into the sea, and, in doing so, demanding others be conscious of what they are dumping there. “We are part of a movement,” she says. “The stuff that they put into our waters is actually quite scary. It’s almost like we are calling people to be more mindful.” verifyErrors }}{{ message }}{{ /verifyErrors }}{{ I’m not alone in loving it. There is a “new naturism” emerging amongst women across the country (though most would not define themselves as naturists), and when I reached out to the swimming networks I am part of to find out why, I was inundated with women with similar stories to mine. I’m in a deep pond in East Anglia, fringed with lily pads, edged with trees. The sun is beginning to set, sending shafts of gold between the leaves. The water is dark, cool but not cold. It still retains, on this autumn day, the residual warmth of the summer months. The odd tendril of pondweed catches on my limbs as I loop in lazy breaststroke. So far, so normal, an outdoor swim like I’ve been doing for years.